Not So Alone
by blackbeltchic
Summary: Buffy sits and contemplates being alone long after her friends and family have left her.


**Title: **Not So Alone

**Author:** Karen

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and Fox. I do not own the characters. No profit was made from this story.

**Author's Notes:** I found this in a folder of unfinished fanfic. Guess it wasn't as unfinished as I thought.

**Summary:** Buffy sits and contemplates being alone long after her friends and family leave her.

Sitting on the bench in the dark, she realized just how alone she was. She realized just how lonely alone was. It wasn't the first time she had recognized her being alone, but she had never dwelled on it like she was allowing herself to do now.

Why the hell did she have to be the first?

She always seemed to be the first; first to have useful friends in the battle, first to have family who knew and did not run, first to really have a place in this world, outside of her duty. Why was it that life always had a way of kicking you in the ass on the way to the top?

Now she was the last.

It had first appeared when everyone began getting on in years. Everyone finally felt safe enough to give their hearts away, one last time. Even Dawn. Patrick was a great guy, and he treated her sister as she should be treated. And he gave her three gorgeous children, thankfully none followed in their aunt's footsteps. But they soon grew up, along with Willow and Xander's children, married to others, respectively. They had learned their lesson senior year after all. All of her friends soon had gray hairs, but not her. Her hair was still the vibrant yellow it had always been. When Will's beautiful red hair grayed, and then faded to a washed out pink, her hair stayed the beautiful blond she had been born with. It was a blessing and a curse. Even Dawn aged, who didn't have a single gray until her mid 70's, and didn't leave her until her 115th year.

And it didn't seem to affect the others, the girls that were called when Willow's spell went into effect. All around her, they aged, retired from the slayer gig, got married, started families, grew old, and died. Many who made it clung on to their nineties, even one hundreds, but she outlived all of them. Maybe the power being spread out, being spread thin had been the reason why none of them were like her. And maybe it was something to do with her dying twice. She would never know, she no longer had anyone she could turn to for answers.

But she didn't follow her friends. She never grew old. Never gave her heart away again either, since it had never really been hers to give, not since she was seventeen. And yet she'd never tell him. But he seemed to know, nonetheless.

Giles was the first to pass on to the other side, being the oldest. But now everyone had gone on, without her. Even their kids, and a few generations more at that.

She had kept in touch with the first few generations, but things got spread out, each child marrying and then their kids got married; how could she explain to a family of normal, average people that she was their great, great, great, and even great grandmother's sister? No, she left them alone, after the first few generations. None even knew what could flow in their veins, the blood of the slayer, the blood of the Key. There was no way of knowing if the power had been passed on or not. They were just normal people. None of the girls were called, and none of them dabbled in the magics.

So, here she was, sitting all alone. Feeling bad for herself, pitying herself and the life she lived.

He appeared from the shadows, as he was almost one of them by now, and came to stand by her side.

"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded, looking one last time at her friend's graves. It had been almost two hundred years since Dawn had passed away, had gone on to her gift. Would she ever get the chance to rest? Would she ever get the chance to see her family again, to bask in the happiness again? Would she ever get the gift the First Slayer had promised?

He scooped her up into his arms, ever so gently.

That was the thing: the slayer was much like her counterpart, the things she slayed, though no one had ever had the chance to find out. Unless she was killed outright, she was immortal, forever to fight for the side of good. She could die, but only if the wound was mortal, if it killed her outright. Other than that, it was only a matter of time before it healed. And the older she got, the stronger she seemed to become.

What didn't kill you only made you stronger.

If the guy who first said that wasn't dead, she would personally hunt him down and kill him.

He gently repositioned her in his arms. To her 300, he was only 225 years older, but he knew of her pain as he knew his own. They both lived outside the time they belonged, living in the shadows like ghosts of times past. They watched the world change around them, but they didn't belong to it.

Slayers were supposed to die at 20, tops, not linger around as everyone around them went on to their final rest. That was the one thing she could not fight, couldn't defeat: old age. And yet it didn't affect her.

Such a sense of humor, Fate had.

She snuggled into his shoulder. She would not allow this of anyone else, carrying her about as one might a baby. But he was special. Her legs hung uselessly over his arm as he shifted her so she was more comfortable. It had been awhile, almost a year now since the use of her legs was taken from her. But it wouldn't be soon before she could walk on her own accord again. She had lost them fighting a Troika demon clan. Bastards loved fire. She was lucky to survive, with the falling boulders and large rocks, and all the fire. If he had not shown up, if he had not known of her plight, or that she needed him, if he had not known that she was still alive, she wouldn't be to this day. She would have burned with the other victims, the young girls she couldn't save.

He was the one; the keeper of her heart, and even though they could not be together as they both wished, he still cared, it was clear in his eyes, in the way he touched her, when he helped her do everything she used to be able to do herself. But the time would come when her spine would heal, and she wouldn't need his tender help to get from place to place, she wouldn't need his protection, his gentle hands helping her dress and undress. What they would do then was unknown.

Maybe she wasn't so alone after all.

He had never told her about the prophecy he had signed away, now glad a million times over it hadn't come to pass, so he could spend his immortal days with his slayer.

END


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